


Relax

by icecreamforbreakfast



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: But OC Is In Denial, F/M, He Wants More Obvi, I Wanna Do Better, My first fluff tbh, What It Would Be Like To Be Spencer's Best Friend, please give me feedback, this is really just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamforbreakfast/pseuds/icecreamforbreakfast
Summary: Spencer comes to see her after a bad case.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 96





	Relax

"Hey!" She sets her mug of tea on the kitchen counter and makes her way to the front door, stopping a few paces away while he unlaces his shoes and sets them by the door. “What are you doin’ here?” He hangs his jacket and his cardigan on the hook next to hers and turns to her with a shy, nervous smile, 

“I thought I’d come by and hang out?” That’s not his real question, she knows. The question is if she’s okay and comfortable having him unwind with her after a long day.

She rolls her eyes and brings him into a warm, welcoming hug. “Of course, Spenc. I haven’t seen you in a week!” Her voice is gentle, soft, and he closes his eyes and wraps his arms around her. She can feel him start to relax over her. “Rough case, huh?” She whispers into his chest. He nods. “C’mon,” she tugs him into the living area, “go get changed and lemme’ take care of you.” 

He does so without complaint. She heads into the kitchen and refills her tea pot, sets it on the stove eye between medium and high heat, and gathers the ingredients and items needed for blueberry pancakes. The butter had just melted in the skillet completely when he walks back into the living area. His hair is wet, dripping down onto one of her t-shirts, and she can’t help but wish she had a smartphone. She found the t-shirt at a yard sale and bought it because it had her favorite rapper’s most successful album cover printed on the front of it. It’s almost adorable, she turns her attention to pouring the batter in the skillet, how he loves jazz and classical yet he’s wearing the merchandise of a violent, vulgar rapper. 

“Did you use my conditioner?” She grins teasingly. She’d ran out of shampoo a few days ago but hadn’t bought another bottle as she still had another few days. 

He nods. 

She sees him sit on the deep green couch, one of her books cradled in his hands, and makes a face. He hadn’t said a word. He only gets quiet when he’s thinking but he only ever stays quiet and thinking this long when he’s stuck in his head. She hates it when he gets stuck. This case must have really sucked. She’d left him alone for thirty minutes, at most, and he’s retreated into himself. 

She starts telling him about her day in hopes to pull him out of his own head, mundane and monotonous things that happen to her every day but still annoy her to no end. 

“--and then,” she piles two pancakes each onto two paper plates before tossing the spatula in the sink, “the old fart had the audacity to tell me that I couldn’t ask him to leave for causing a disturbance and, y’know, calling me all those stupid things because,” she’d grabbed the jar of honey off the top of the fridge and two plactic forks, “the customer is always right!” He takes the plate and fork she’s holding out to him. She sets the jar of honey on the small coffee table and sets her plate next to it before going back into the kitchen and getting a damp washcloth to wipe the jar down after they got their portions out of it. She comes back, pauses at the sight of him not even picking at his food, and rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her after a moment and she can feel her heart miss a few beats. His eyes are empty and he looks lost. So lost. “My rambling on isn’t helping, baby cakes. What can I do that will?” 

He shrugs. She purses her lips. 

“You want me to keep rambling?” 

He nods. She does. 

She talks for a few more hours, taking extra care to entice Spenc into participating. He nods along and shakes his head for the most part, but then he starts asking his own questions after a little over an hour. A smug smile pulls at her lips, pride filling her heart to the brim and spilling over. He’s so resilient. It takes a lot to cause him to react like that, but he always bounces back. 

He asks about her shoes, wondering if she’d worn them out after only two months. He had seen them by the door, then. 

“Again?” She loves how his face lights up when he smiles, how his eyes shine brighter than the sun. He’s not as excited as he usually is but she knows it’ll only take time. She nods her head and giggles. The soft smile remains on his face as he pulls his knees up to his chest, tugging one of her small, crochet blankets over him. He turns to face her, finally. “Are you free in the morning?” He asks, light brown eyes locked firmly on her own. “We can go and get you another pair. We should probably get you three pairs, y’know, just in case you get busy and don’t have time to get another pair when you need to.” She notes happily that he’s starting to come back to himself, just a bit more, because he’s talking pretty fast. “It’s not safe to wear shoes that are falling apart, Ellie, you know that. It’s bad on your feet and your legs and even your back because--” 

She leans back into the corner of the couch, her position mirroring his, and smiles. He’s still talking, hands gesturing. He looks better, relaxed. Well, almost relaxed. He’s still looking up and away to eye the windows, doorways, and glancing at his handgun on the table. She sighs. 

“Hold this,” she orders and hands him her mug of chamomile tea. As soon as it’s in his large hand she’s rolling forward and burrowing into him. He tilts himself into her and presses her spine even further into the cushioned backrest, a low hum vibrating his chest when she pulls the blanket to cover her as well. She’s tucked securely between him and the couch and she can almost hear him really relaxing. “Really rough case, huh?” She murmurs into his chest, just under his collar bone. His elbow is digging into the cushion she’s resting her head on and his hand settles on her hip after he hands her her mug of tea back. 

His eyes look sad. “Yeah,” he says roughly, “a really rough case.” 

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” She wants to make it better, take all the pain away and just let him live peacefully. But, she closes her eyes and lets lose a breath through her nose, he’d never like that. 

He’s not a man of peace. He’s a man of justice. 

He’d deny that if she ever told him, but it’s true. He knows he has a better chance at catching those killers than others, what with his eidetic memory and his extremely high I.Q. and all, and can’t sit back and let innocent people die while he does something else when he could be, should be helping. 

“‘Justice is never peace’ you said.” He’s practically reading her mind. Damn profiler. He pushes and rubs his thumb over her hip bone. “You never told me where you read that.” 

“I didn’t read it anywhere.” She tilts her head back and to the side so she can sip at her tea. “At least, I don’t think I did. Maybe T.V.?” 

He hums. “Maybe you heard or read something meaning the same thing but it was longer and more ‘wordy’ so your brain shortened it in a way that can better remember it.” She likes how he stresses his tone when he says ‘wordy’ because it’s something she says a lot, something she complains a lot about. “You probably paraphrased it, used different words and made it your own.” 

She decides to finish off her tea, gulping it down since it’s now warm and not scalding. “Wanna’ talk about today?” She knows he won’t. He never does. He told her once that he doesn’t want to bring work home with him, that he doesn’t want to darken his one bright thing. Apparently, their friendship is his one bright thing. 

She won’t lie and say that him saying that didn’t melt her heart. 

“No,” he takes the empty mug from her and places it on the table behind him, next to his identically empty mug. 

She’s not surprised, of course. So she decides to bring the lighthearted conversation back. “You and your long arms.” She snorts, feigning jealousy and disdain. 

“You have short arms because you went on a horrible diet right before puberty and then began working out way too much” he presses into her even more, his hand gripping her waist. “So now you’re my own little fairy.” 

They laugh together, amused at his long held belief that she doesn’t really think is actually backed by science. She yawns, muscles contracting. Her back bows, chest pressing into his while the muscles in her neck tightens down between her shoulders. Once it’s over, only a few moments, Spencer is impatiently tucking her into him even further. She wraps an around his ribs, his own draping over her’s and into her hair. One of her legs is positions between both of his and the other is over his top legs. Straddling each other, her cheeks heat severely. 

“That’s the twelfth yawn in the past hour,” he murmurs. He rests his forehead on the back of her head for a moment, curving over her protectively, then lightly tugs at her long hair behind her back, the palm of his hand remaining on her waist. “You should go to bed.” 

She shakes her head, more of her hair shifting over her shoulder and waist. “No, I’m comfy here.” Her voice is whiny and high-pitched. He tugs harder at the small chunk of hair twisted around his finger and chuckles lightly, almost inaudibly, when her head is pulled back into the cushion behind her. “Don’t be mean, Spenc.” Her voice is husky--husky with sleep and maybe something else, something that she herself can’t admit. 

“You need to go to bed.” 

“I’m comfy here.” She mock glares at him, an exaggerated pout pulling at her face. “We’re talking and I miss you and wanna’ spend time with you and I’m not even slee-” 

She’s interrupted by a yawn. 

He raises an eyebrow at her and she returns her pout ten-fold. “Just thirty more minutes and then I’ll go to bed.” She’s not above begging, and he’s not above caving for her. 

“Alright, alright, alright.” He sighs, a smug smile on his face that only he knows is there. “Thirty minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! Please, let me know what you think in the comments. I've been writing since my 13th birthday but have never put any up online or had anyone read them, ever.


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